Alright everybody, prepare for a story. It was first semester of my Freshman year of college, and I was rooming with my high school bud in an apartment, cuz **** dorms. We've both got the day off the next day so we decide to tear **** up from home like nobody's business. Bought a half-eighth of dank and a big ol' bottle of Jack. I took about 7 shots of Jack, he took about 5, (keep in mind, we were freshman) and we smoked the entire half-eighth from our beautiful bong. So it's about 2 or 3 in the morning while watching Netflix that we decide to make a pizza, and by the time it's done I am so blacked out blazed and wasted that I try to rouse my friend from his weed coma. I figure he'll come out of it eventually so I make my way to the kitchen. I stumble to the right, smack my toe into the wall, hunch over in pain and thus lose my balance, fall back and slam my shoulder on the corner of the kitchen counter on the way down. I would later discover that my shoulder was bleeding fairly excessively. I become light headed and immediately understand that if I try to stand up I will only pass out. But this does not affect me. I know what I must do. I suddenly began channeling my years of Call of Duty and bring out my inner Navy SEAL. We've got a pizza stuck behind enemy lines in a hot LZ, (lol, oven) and I've got to get him out. I shuffle myself, battered and broken, along the floor to the door of the oven, bring myself up on my knees, open the oven, and observe my objective. When suddenly an ambush! I had forgotten that the oven was ******* hot and was struck full-force by the initial heatwave. This did me in, and I passed out. Luckily, my partner had come too, saw the ordeal, pulled my unconscious body away from the oven, saved the pizza, and brought me back to consciousness just long enough for me to throw up and pass out again. The moral of the story? I am not a Navy SEAL, no matter how drunk or hungry I am.